After You
by ahiddenbanshee
Summary: A debt repaid, repayment received, with original obligations illuminated, a daughter is deceived.
1. Chapter 1

She owes a debt for which she cannot pay. A debt through a man she'd met in passing perhaps seven times, a man who was more stranger to her than father. A debt by which dealings were made before she was even born. She owes this debt now since her father met his end fighting a battle alongside men. It is a debt to a king she'd only ever heard stories of. She cannot pay this debt, she works in service to the king until it is deemed fulfill.

Her blood is of man and elf, such as her father's was, such was the only trait they shared. A being mixed of races was hardly ever taken well, even if she proved to be more elf than man. Striking elegant features that far surpassed the appearance of women and men, but not nearly as perfect as those of full blooded elves. She was not light of step or graceful like the elves, but she did not age so drastically as men. She was a blight among both races, never belonging anywhere... until her place was found... in the King's bed.

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It was tradition. No one thought ill of the practice. In fact, some were quite inspired by it; anxious and enthusiastic, leading their lives by it. Every quarter of a century the youthful of the wood elves, maiden and suitor alike, were all gathered to stand in the grand hall of the throne room for the King's choosing. It did not matter the status of the elf, as long as one was within the preferred age range they stood before the King, putting themselves forth in offering.

She did not know of these ways, of this practice among the wood elves, having lived amongst men with her mother, and still after her mother. She had assumed her debt would slowly be paid by way of servitude as one of the many kitchen maids, nothing more; but here she found herself, standing in a line among lines of many female and male elves far superior than her in height, beauty and elegance.

The past proved that the King generally chose between one and five elves, never favouring one gender over the other, and of course, choosing ones he believed the most exquisite of the assemblage.

She had no worries, then. Though she stuck out of the assortment like a worm amidst eagles. All the elves around her were dressed in their very bests, ranging from the finest linens to ceremonial armour. Some were even scantily clad in just a strip of silk, leaving little to the imagination, but a more honest advertising of what they offered. It made a blush rise from her chest, painting her neck and all the way to the pointed tips of her ears, not only in the lack of modesty but because of her own state of dress. Even the less wealthy of the proffered elves dressed leagues better than her. But she was just a lowly kitchen maid, made so by a debt her father had failed to complete repayment before he died. Her dress was made of the coarsest, cheapest fabric, thinking of it now, had she been warned, she would've changed into the dress her mother had made her thirty years ago, the material was no better than what she wore now, but it fit better, it would've seemed like a better attempt. Her maid's apron lay over the top, stained by food and wine and splashed by soapy water. Fingernails dried out, cracked and chipped, her hands twiddled together restlessly in front of her navel. Hair nearly dark as coal, thick but soft, not as effortlessly neat and straight as most elves, managed into something workable; two small plaits, running from either side of her temples to just behind her earlobes, clipped by brass beads, the bulky remainder of her hair and the plaits hauled together with a short length of string, hanging from the center of the back of her skull looking akin to the tail of a pony. Her hair was a hard thing to keep clean and tidy, and this day was no different.

In the forefront of her mind she knew there was no way she would be chosen and that was a great relief; she would simply stand here until the so-called _lucky few_ were picked and the ceremony ended. So she let her thoughts wander, and more often than not when she let her thoughts wander she found herself wondering just what it was that her father had made an accord over with the Elven King, what could it have possibly been that not even a century of repayment had even breached the half way mark.

The King entered the hall when all were settled in, quiet, standing, waiting. His statuesque form gliding through the masses, his steward trailing behind him, just as, but still not nearly, as elegant as his majesty.

He stood before them, in front of the steps of his grand throne and simply gazed upon them. Some of them shying their eyes away immediately, others, in show of strength or a tantalizing act rebellion, only relenting when his silvery blue study lingered upon them until they finally bowed their heads in respect or fear, he didn't care which it was. For a long while he simply combed over the proffered mass from where he stood, already cutting down his pick to twenty from the probable hundred elves. Thranduil strode forward finally, stepping delicately and easily through the rows, stopping before possible prospects, running his fingers through soft hair, a finger tip against silken skin, leaning into inhale a scent. Most he would continue on from, three he nodded shortly for.

It was when he stopped before her that a new type of silence hung over the crowd. For all she seemed to have her head in the clouds with the King stood right in front of her, she didn't seem to notice his presence, her eyes holding a far away look, the corner of a dry, chapped lip held captive between her teeth. She looked the very image of disturbed in a sea of elegance and grace. So far away was she that she only heard the tail end of a question, and far too slowly she realised it was directed at her. She startled out of her reverie upon seeing the King and his steward stood before her, chancing a sharp glance around her, she saw the other elves were staring fiercely, some in envy, some in shock, and most in revulsion. She looked back to the King but couldn't manage to meet his shimmering gaze, instead she looked to his steward, the elf who had received her and assigned her work placement.

"- consent?" was the word she had heard from the King's deep, rich tone, the first she'd ever heard of his voice, and it shook her to her very foundations.

Consent was implied by simply standing in attendance, but she assumed they all forgot about the little detail that said 'required presence'. She couldn't manage a word, couldn't even utter a syllable. It was her duty to agree as a citizen of the Greenwood, but her mind was screaming, no, no, no, she refused to be a doll for an ancient king to play with, to do with as he pleased. Her lips had parted in an attempt to reply, and that was as far as she managed.

The steward rolled his eyes briefly before he said, "She consents, my Lord."

"I would prefer it if she spoke on her own behalf." The King, the steward, the whole hall of elven youths looked on and waited for her answer. The steward's eyes narrowed on her in an unspoken threat and she shrank away from it, eyes downcast as she struggled to steady her pulse thundering in her ears.

She herself just barely heard her whimpered answer, "Y-Yes." Her glance rose just in time to see a slight smirk stretch the left corner of the King's lips before he turned sharply on his heel and swiftly took his leave.

When his presence was no longer in the hall the crowd erupted with quiet murmurings. Some immediately left to tend to their duties, some to their homes to change, and some stayed, eyes on the selected four; two silver haired elf maidens, one brunette suitor, and her. Most of the mutterings centered around her, though they daren't question the King's choice in consort, they could not believe it. She had not been in the Greenwood for longer than a season and she was blessed enough to be chosen. Not even full blooded, rather common, not presentable in the slightest, perhaps a bath and she would appear decent; these comments and much more were said, but she did not hear a single one.

Her breath had left her in a gust the instant the King left, as if she had been holding it in the entirety of the ceremony. Her pulse was still thumping loud and hard in her chest and her ears, everything muffled, and slightly blurry, she thought she would have passed out had it not been for one of the other chosen, the suitor, touching her arm, saying something and guiding her toward the other two where they stood with the king's steward and another she-elf of the court.

She held a scroll of parchment before her, her eyes set on in but not moving along with the words she read, like she'd read it so many times before she knew it like a song rather than an official document.

"As bedmate to the King you will be called on at any hour of the day or night. Once called upon you will stop whatever you are occupied with, you will first be escorted to the bath adjoining his majesty's chambers, briefly washed down and dressed in a shift or nothing at all, depending on specifications. From there you will be delivered to his majesty's chambers and you will tend to his needs as he requires. As a chatelaine to our King Thranduil of the Great Greenwood of the Woodland Realm should you accept his seed and carry his child you will be relieved from all duties and waited on in the healing rooms until the child is born. Producing an heir will not allot you divine right in the kingdom, but you will be given special arrangements within the royal halls and reassigned your duties when you are able."

The she-elf continued, but her voice was just a distant rumbling in her ears. Her stomach had dropped, and her fingers linked together clenched and unclenched in an infrequent spastic pattern. To accept the King's seed and carry his child to term, how had she not factored that thought in. Well, she hadn't because she knew she would not have been selected. Yet here she stood, among the three other chosen; the three others who didn't look scared in the slightest. The suitor seemed in well enough spirits, in elven terms, which didn't afford much, and the other two maidens, they looked nearly as superior and regal as the King himself. She felt horribly out of place, and startled back into her place when the she-elf locked her eyes on her, catching the latter half of her final words to the selected, "-will not speak unless spoke to, move unless acknowledged, or depart until given direction by the King."

The other three offered a slight inclination of their heads in way of accepting and understanding these terms. Too fearful to ask for reiteration of what she might have missed, she followed their example, and tried to lessened the tremble in her fiddling fingers. The she-elf rolled up her parchment and stepped aside, the steward taking the place where she had stood.

A sudden thought presented itself in her head then, the steward, her debt, her oath - she wondered if this might lessen it, or perhaps it might repay the debt quicker. She would have to inquire, but in much more formal a way than that.

"Later on you will bathed and dressed for tonight's festivities - a celebration of the King's new chosen consorts. You will be escorted and presented before court and kingdom. The King many request one, two, three or all of you when he chooses to retire for the night. You _will_ comply."

That last bit was undoubtedly meant just for her, only because of how he had looked directly at her as he said it; that threatening look in his eyes that was meant to scare her into submission seemed to, at the same moment, dare her to step just a toe out of line so he could incur his wrath upon her.

"For now you will be shown to your new accommodations. You have my felicitations, and welcome to the palace. Until tonight..." the steward as cordial and professional as ever, gave a short bow and dismissed himself. Clearly her query would have to wait. The she-elf stood before them again and encouraged them to follow her. Through wide gallant halls and elegant stone stair ways they were delivered to the King's hall, his chambers were in the east end of the hall, theirs in the west. Simple enough, the she-elf explained, and deposited each of them to their own arrangements.

The youngest of the chosen elves stood in her room; a room that was most likely three times the size of the homestead she was born and raised in. The bed was enormous and offered such a comfort that she had no idea was possible of existing. The wardrobe was huge, but empty, but there was a promise that it would soon be full with many gowns. The longer she explored her new room, the more her heart lifted from its gloomy, fearful depths. And as she lie on her new bed, the impossibly soft mattress and linens cradling her body, she sighed, contented. This was a life she could endure.

She'd drifted off, she wasn't sure how long, but all too soon it seemed, she was startled awake by three raps on her chamber door. New to this and unsure of how to proceed, she stuttered out for whoever it was to enter, the door pushed open and in strode in two hand maidens, claiming it was time for her to be bathed and dressed before the celebration.

And the gravity of the situation hit her all over again. She was not a guest here, she had not suddenly come into a respectable title and was finally receiving her deserved compensation. She was the King's consort, a chosen lover. She couldn't do this, she could not endure.

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Note: Mind that I had written this a couple months or so prior to viewing The Desolation of Smaug, so the kingdom I created is not accurate to the kingdom displayed in DOS. I imagine mine is much safe; no skinny path ways held aloft an endless abyss. I mean! Even Erebor is like that! Shit's not regulation safe! How many people have been hella drunk and tipped off the edge never to be seen again?! Dwarves and Elves need to get their shit together and invest in constructing some goddamn hand rails. Anyway... Where was I going with this. Uhh! This is probably gonna be a three parter deal. Can we expect smut? Hmmmm, in tastefully written small doses, perhaps... so expect the rating to go up, or I'll just rate it M at the start.

And the title is sort of working, but at the same time, it can be taken in many different forms, so I think I'll keep it.


	2. Chapter 2

The bath did wonders to ease her stress, but not enough to wash it all away. There was still the flutter in her stomach, the frantic pitter-patter of her heart that kept her well aware of how high strung she really was.

Her hair took a great deal of brushing, she kept it long, as most women and elves did, but hers was a thick, hardly manageable mane; it was a battle ground for fine toothed combs, catching in endless snares, disentangling one just to get stuck into another, one after the other after the other. Eventually her coal coloured tresses were tamed, no knots, but incapable of remaining pin straight; the hand maidens arranged it into the likeness which she normally did, taking much more care with the two braids at her temples than she usually gave, but instead of ending them separately with her brass beads, they were brought to connect behind her head, with something of a clip far more dazzling than she had ever seen up close. She besought the maidens to reconsider, surely the clip would be lost by the night's end, and she would feel terribly for it. They shushed her, securing the clip, and left the rest of her hair loose. It was strange to her, to have her hair flow, it had not been left that way since she was a small child.

Similarly, she'd not worn such beautiful flowing cloth since she was small. Her father, in addition to the scarce times she'd met him, would send gifts on occasion, for both her and her mother. Needless to say, with him gone, leaving them to struggle, they could not enjoy such splendor. Though when she was younger her mother would let her wear the little gowns, just for a little while, never in the kitchen, or by the fireplace, and never outside; she would bask in the grandeur and then they would sell them to merchants. It wasn't unfair, it was life - as she knew it.

The maidens tried not to show their irritation when the swathes of fabric hung too long in the front, tripping up feet and causing her to stumble. She was shorter, for their race; usually long limbed and graceful, she didn't lack grace, just simply the long limbs. With a hasty effort and use of pins, they managed to gather the dress in a not so obvious way so that she could walk and still look elegant.

A thin chain was brought around her neck and it had taken her an embarrassingly long few moments to realise it was her mother's necklace salvaged from the pocket of her dress - clearly one of the maidens had gone rummaging. She didn't make a sound as the chain was fastened and the little white crystals fashioned into the shape of a six-petalled flower glittered from where it rested against her sternum. She'd never wear the chain in fear of ruining it while she worked, but she always kept it with her; the way it looked now, with the sheer white lace atop cream silks of her Elven made dress, she knew this was how it was meant to be worn, close to regally. Her reflection pleased and frightened her all at once, she'd never looked so lovely before, so clean and well dressed; she'd never dreamed of seeing her image as such.

The final piece was a wreath of red flowers to crown her head. She touched at the delicate blooms and looked questioningly at the she-elves. "It's a symbol of your status. A temporary crown, a temporary space occupied in the king's bed. Red, the color of passion. Roses, a representation of desire." That really did sum it up quite neatly. She felt the anxiety swoop in her stomach anew, she couldn't do this.

"Time to go, winë," they ushered her from the room and she let herself be led while she internally panicked.

_The King may request one, two, three of all of you at the end of the night. You _will_ comply_. She couldn't imagine it, couldn't imagine herself alone with the King let alone another, or two or three others. And expected to please his majesty in ways she'd not ever practised in reality or in her mind. She couldn't think of it without feeling sick, which subconsciously caused her heels to dig into the floor to stop her from continuing, of meeting her fate, but the maidens were determined to complete their task in cleaning up and presenting the young consort to the ceremony. So she moved where she was guided, barely aware of her surroundings, as her mind was preoccupied with planning out numerous scenarios in which the night might end.

Through the grand hall that housed the king's throne, and out the long entrance hall into the slightly chilled night air, she was walked into the forest where the festivities were to take place. Long tables with endless amounts of greens and wines were set out among an enormous empty space circled by trees, a large procession of elves that numbered likely close to a thousand stood waiting for the introduction of the new royal consorts. There was an elevated dais on which another long table was arranged, and there standing behind cushioned seats stood the three other chosen, each adorning the same sort of crown she did, and dressed in white, looking impeccably elegant. She had no idea why she had a place among them.

She was stationed beside the suitor, who gave her a small nod, to which she was doubtful she managed a response back to, she was so terrified. She folded her hands before her, fingers locked together to keep her trembling better hidden.

The night was lit by candle and torch. The sun had faded completely when the King finally made his appearance. Each and every elf bowed their heads forward in respect. They remained standing as the she-elf from earlier made a long, well detailed speech of tradition that the youngest crowned consort probably should have been paying attention to so that some light might be cast on the more murky parts of this ages old act, but she was too preoccupied with the anxiety that was making her pulse thump too loud in her ears, she couldn't have listened even if she wanted to. The King stood one body away from her. The King, who was dressed in shining silvers beneath his velvet cloak of blood red, like a partially concealed glittering dagger. The King who would claim her virtue, possibly in the presence of others, stood not six feet from her. It was overwhelming, and she thought she might faint until the speech suddenly ended, the King sat, and everyone was allowed to follow after him.

She literally collapsed into her seat, unsure if her name had been mentioned, but it mattered not in the slightest. She'd nearly reached for the decanter of wine to fill her goblet to overflowing, but halted in the act by the sound of throat clearing to her left, the suitor; she glanced at him quickly and he shot a look to the elf that would wait on them, who was approaching quickly. She was now subject to a part-time life of leisure, where she could not serve her own wine at this moment, but she would tend to the dishes the very next day - her head was swimming with agony, and a small bit of irritation.

She picked at her food, and daren't look in the direction of the King, let alone engage him in conversation like the two she-elf consorts at the other end of the table did. She kept an ear out, though, in case she should hear her name and need to respond. That was becoming a strenuous feat in itself with the five times her goblet had been filled with the finest wine she'd ever tasted.

Her nerves were dulled, indeed, but sobriety made a hasty reappearance when the King stood, and everyone else followed in suit. She struggled to her feet, and knew this was it. This was the moment... maybe. He bid the celebration to continue while he and the two she-elves retired for the night.

The merry making commenced the instant the King and two elves left the circle of trees and were just a fuzzy group of shadows following a torch lit trail back to the fortress. She couldn't handle another minute of pretending to be jovial, she finished off the last bit of wine in one hearty swallow, bid the suitor a good night and stumbled back to her rooms by guidance of her handmaidens.

Entering the King's hall she wondered if she could hear the distant sound of carnal endeavours, but figured not, surely it was only her mind playing tricks on her. She thanked Iluvatar for sparing her the King's attentions this night. But how long would it be before her luck ran out?

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Note: oops, I think I lied. This might extend to be a four parter. Anyway. I'm honestly astonished by the number of follows and reviews. All you pervs really wanna read you some Thrandy smut, don't ya? HAH! Well, me too. Hopefully it'll be what you're all anxious for! I really appreciate the follows and reviews, by the way... you filthy perverts. x o x o.

Also winë means little one in Elvish... I think... one of the meanings, yes... most likely.


	3. Chapter 3

There is no mention of the lack of actually seeing the King once officially chosen and presented as a royal consort, nor is there a mention of the complete and utter resentment one is directed when they have been chosen... Or at least the latter seemed to be special in her case. A half breed, but one especially as muddled in blood as she was, was unheard of in the past of noted consorts. So not only was she an oddity in race, but now also as a bedmate that would go down in Woodland Realm history.

Working in the kitchens wasn't all that different, though she was well put together now, and as instructed she still wore the wreath of roses; it was the side eyed glances of pure disdain that she had a harder time of getting used to.

Days, weeks, months came and went and she'd still yet to be called on. She was beginning to think she'd been forgotten, which would have been all right with her, but it was with this new position that she hoped to pay her debt off quicker, this was a chance she could not waste. But upon raising the query to the steward she was merely given a derisive chuckle and told she would have to take that matter up with his majesty herself.

She doubted very much that would happen as the days drew on and she still wasn't called. It was a bitter sweet relief.

The probationary period of wearing crowns ended when the flowers hid away from the cold season to sleep and rise to bloom again in the spring. She would find herself wondering, as she always did, of the debt - surely she could ask the King what it was that was owed, since it was hers to nullify now. But lately, as she thought of the debt and how she would word her asking, more and more often her mind would drift away, lead by thoughts solely of the King. Wondering of intimate things she had every right, as her standing as a consort, to wonder about. And by the night's end, when these thoughts normally busied her mind, she would wonder if this was some sort of spell; if he'd cast some magic upon her to plague her thoughts with him, so that in the end she wouldn't fear his company, but rather crave it.

It was strange, yet alluring. Knowing that she was wanted. It was terrifying, shook her to the bone, but exciting, warming her trembling bones. Knowing that she would be taken.

Two weeks into the winter season, the flowers hid, the trees were bare, no spiders haunted the forest, snow softly fell from the sky and gently settled on the earth.

She was ejected from the kitchens early in the morning for reasons she did not fully understand, there had been hisses of 'undeserving' and 'young stupid' and 'human mutant', but that was as much as her keen ears could pick up. And with no task to busy her day, she found herself, for once, as a creature of leisure. Donning a heavy cloak of finely detailed linen, in a warm, robust red [the woodland elves tended toward forest and natural colours, greens and browns; on occasions of splendour they would wear light colours, whites and shining silvers, but red was the symbol for consorts, red wasn't a colour to be mistaken, red was identity and status, red was their mark] she strolled through the delicately snow dusted wood. She gazed into the sky, watching the flakes fall, catching them on her fingers tips and catching sight of each individualised pattern before it melted away, never to be seen again. Hours ticked away as she did this, and only when the flakes began to coat the ground at a faster rate, the white, icy carpet growing thicker with each step her foot crunched and sank, she decided to take comfort in the warmth of the palace.

In the solace of her chambers her mind is suddenly a bustle with thoughts of the King again. For hours, outside, she hadn't had a thought or care in the world. But through winding path ways to the King's hall, once her door closed after her, it all seemed to crash around her again. She wasn't a creature of leisure. She was debtor. She was a debtor and mistress to the Elvenking. She was a creature of pleasure.

The things a courtesan must do. She imagined, but her imagination didn't offer much in detail or experience. As a being closer to 300 years, untouched, without any lover with each passing century, she couldn't salvage her life if her imagination depended on it. The basic mechanics of it were obvious, but she couldn't understand how it could possibly benefit the receiving participant. But those trivial thoughts eventually gave way to much more innocent thoughts... of what it would be like to kiss the King, would he kiss her, would kissing happen at all? And again she damned whatever spell had ensnared her mind, but couldn't stop her mind from further wandering in the direction it did.

Gentle, soft, sweet, or mean, brutal? Would she cry, would she hurt, would she bleed? She was part mortal, after all. Would he want her to cry, to hurt? Would he relish the sight of her blood, or her pain? Would it be torture? Or would it be much worse? Or... Fear of the unknown and agony factored out - would she love it?

Her thoughts stalled abruptly when her doors flew open after two sharp warning knocks, and her handmaidens entered and glided in to stand at the foot of her bed. They didn't speak, as they usually did, they only wore minute little curls at the corners of their mouths, simply motioning for her to follow, and follow she did, too certain of where she was being lead, too aware of what the source of their mirth was. She was finally called.

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The bathing chamber adjoining the King's room - which she realised much too late was quite literally the King's bath, his own personal bath - waited to accept her. She thought _her_ accommodations were settled comfortably in the lap of luxury. She couldn't have been dreaming, her mind wasn't so creative enough to produce the splendor her wide eyes took in: the numerous bottles of salts and oils of varying nourishing minerals and scents took up a large corner portion of the room, there was an enormous vanity, the mirror framed with large, ivory, dangerously beautiful entangled antlers, the table top lined with combs, brushes, jewellery boxes, and two stands that were just as ornate as the crowns they supported, then she blinked and she was settled in the tub. The gigantic tub that actually carved from the mountain, connected to secret springs, how deep it went she couldn't be sure, she was mostly astounded by how the water still remained warm with ten minutes past.

Incredibly warm and relaxing. Perhaps not dreaming, but perhaps she did faint and hit her head the wrong way and found herself accepted into Aman regardless of her death and mixed blood. Her unruly hair was collected and pinned in place in a halfway attempted twist, far from the water's reach. Her nails were trimmed and cleaned, fingers and toes. The maids had to go an extra length they normally wouldn't have had she been purely elven, making bare the skin of her legs, under her arms and eventually after her giving up resistance, her most private place. After being subjected to such horror she figured it couldn't get much worse beyond that - if she wasn't considering the likely painful taking of her virtue. Her hair was tended to last, pins pulled away, hair falling free, dunked into the water and washed with three kinds of soaps, each smelling better than the next - better than what had been used the night of the presentation ceremony - but remembering these soaps were of the King's caliber, there was no wonder.

The water was finally going a bit cold when the last of the soap was rinsed away and she was instructed to exit the tub; tub, she snorted internally, such an impossibly small and seemingly incorrect word for the pond of a bath.

Wrapped in cloth, patted and rubbed dry, she, again, felt like a doll being dressed for play - though it was exactly that, in a much less childlike a manner. Her hair was wrung out and left to dry to its own ravenous accord, fluffing into voluminous waves that curled into ringlets toward the ends; no braids, no beads, no clips, no crowns, simply left loose and bare.

Perfume oil was dabbed at the back of her neck, inner wrists, and much to her dread, two small smears nearer the middle of her inner thighs, before she was shrouded in a white shift with unbelievably gorgeous detailed swirling embroidery along the low dipping collar, bell cuffs, and hem that hung scandalously to mid calf. So dazzled was she by the stitching of her gown that she had hardly noticed how sheer it was until she saw the outline of her legs moving quite clearly through the material.

She couldn't protest, as the maid's had insisted she looked wonderful and this is how the King had requested she be presented. It was terrifying, understandably more terrifying than everything else that led up to this moment combined. She breathed out a quiet thanks to their compliments, though it was their hands who had created the picture they commended. And it was their hands that took gentle hold of her by hand and forearm and guided her to the intricately decorated oaken door that led to the King's chamber.

She swallowed thickly at the sight of her fate so charmingly presented to her in the form of a door; the symbolism and irony of it all wasn't lost on her. Behind that door she would begin a new chapter in her suddenly ridiculous life; behind that door she would learn all the answers to the endless questions her mind produced since her becoming a chosen consort. And if she was lucky enough to be granted to speak, she might gain answers to the questions that truly mattered to her. Though the process of preparing her had been in fact quite leisurely, she felt as though it was moving entirely too fast. The maidens she couldn't place a solid emotion for, neither here nor there about their near constant presence in her new life, she now yearned for their guidance, their nearness; normally she would like to be left alone, but she'd do anything, say anything to keep them around, just so she wouldn't have to...

She supposed their expressions of support, prideful yet sympathetic eyes that matched their ever soft grins should have meant something, especially when she seemed to be drowning in a sea of utter disdain directed toward her all the time, but it didn't quiet the loud beating of her pulse in her ears, didn't calm her breathing, didn't make her feel better in the slightest. One reached forward and tucked a wayward lock behind her ear, while the other reminded her, "Do not speak unless spoken to." The other picked up with, "Just do as his majesty directs and you shall be fine." While the former grasped the door handle and pushed. The oaken door scraped heavily along the stone floor with a resounding groan that drowned out her thundering heart beat if only for the moments it took until the door stood wide. They both stood away from the threshold, and one of them, she couldn't differentiate the voice, whispered from behind her, "We will be back to retrieve you once his majesty is sated," before she felt a helpful nudge, bordering on a shove, against the small of her back, launching her to stumble into the King's private bedchambers.

There were a few long moments after she heard the door shudder and thud shut - literally sealing her to her fate - where she didn't move, didn't breathe, and couldn't even produce a coherent thought. The chamber was dark, a few flickering candles sparsely lit the enormous room, though how enormous she couldn't be positive with such dull lighting. It was a large, roaring fire place that shone the most light, casting two tall backed, cushioned chairs positioned a comfortable distance before the hearth, and the bed into a foreboding yet soothing orange glow.

"Come." She startled so hard she nearly tripped where she stood still as a statue. That voice had spoken directly to her some many moons ago, but now she could hardly recognize it, or place where it was coming from. "Take a place before the fire, surely the chill from dancing in the snow all day still lingers in your bones."

This was her job, do as he says, please him. The first had been giving her consent, and now she was to follow through. This was her place. Somehow. This was her life. All because of a damned unpaid debt.

She couldn't banish the tremble from her hands, nor lessen the frenzied beat of her heart, but she swallowed her fear, swallowed her scant remaining pride, and with bare feet on cold stone, she answered her King's request and made her way toward the fire. Answering his call.

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	4. Chapter 4

She had never felt such confidence, such a sudden encompassing fearlessness as she walked toward the hearth and the luxurious chairs that faced its warmth... that is, until she neared the first chair and felt her heart jump into throat just at the sight of the king's bare feet, legs crossed, and a goblet of wine poised delicately in hand hanging over the chair arm. She stumbled, but luckily she wasn't within his sight just yet for him to see her panic and compose herself, panic again and calm so that she could mimic the gliding strides of the more graceful elves in the realm, a prime example being his majesty.

All the previous confidence she had felt had escaped her completely, she felt every beat of her pulse in each of her limbs, she felt incredibly self conscious as she passed the seated king, but fought against the screaming, desperate need to cover herself up, such as her shift did very little in doing. She deposited herself in the chair opposite the king, and belatedly hoped that that is what he'd meant by telling her to take a place before the fire. She thought her heart might soon fail her as it kicked up into a tempo she'd not felt before, beating even faster as she carefully raised her eyes to look to her lord.

His eyes were half lidded, lazily gazing to the enormous, warm, crackling fire, his hand swirling the contents of his goblet leisurely before he took a slow sip, "I saw you out in Eryn Galen. Do you enjoy the chilling turn of the season?" his silken voice spoke again, quiet, yet so deep in tone that it thankfully sounded over the wooshing pound of blood in her ears. But thinking of it. Replaying his words again in her mind, the question, the statement. He saw her? When? "It is a simple question, I think," he murmured, clearly displeased with her lack of response.

"I..." she squeaked, "I can't really say which season suits me best. I rather enjoy the peace that any nature proffers, truthfully." She winced internally. What had she said? Did it even make sense? Oh, Iluvatar, what had become of her life where truly basic queries sent her into a panicked scramble in her mind. He was plainly speaking to her, the physical part hadn't even begun and she was sure she would die of fright.

His eyes, so light and sparkling even by the fire that coloured all objects with its glowing caress into orangey tones, slid to her. And a peculiar thing happened within her, she thought her heart would stop when his eyes connected with her, but instead she felt herself settle, relax somehow. The left side of his mouth curled slightly into a small smirk. And for a time, she couldn't be sure if it was seconds or minutes, she felt herself dip back and forth between terrified and perfectly calm as he kept her gaze until finally he broke away, his eyes glancing toward his goblet with mild interest.

"Your maids, they call you _winë_," he spoke, his words amplified as he raised his goblet to his lips and drank slowly.

She had to think back to recall all the sorts of names she had been called, some comparatively not so kind by other elves who were not her maids; none ever spoke her name, she doubted anyone even knew her name, save for the king's steward, and quite possibly then it was only her father's name in his ledgers. But the maids had taken to calling her _dear_, and _sweet_, but more often it was, indeed, _little one_. She nodded, then abruptly remembered to speak when spoken to, "Yes."

"A common diminutive I've not heard in some time." Came the Elvenking's response. She briefly wondered how old her maids were if the pet name had not been put to use for so long even the king seemed to forget, but she was pulled from her guessing when he spoke again, placing his empty goblet onto the small table beside his chair, "Would you mind if I called you that as well?"

"Not at all. As your majesty wishes." She was quite proud of herself then, there was no tremble in her voice, her tongue didn't stutter, and she tilted her head downward respectfully, lowering her eyes to the king's toes on the stone floor and kept them there until he spoke again.

She briefly let her eyes fall closed, to just bask in the warmth of the fire, the soft comfort of the chair, extravagance she thought she would never ever know the delights of. In her mind she heard voices offer her treat and leisure and politely declined in favour of quiet splendour. But then harsh reality hit her with a light gust of cold wind, this wasn't her richness, she wasn't a being of indulgence, she was a doll, an object to used. She shivered and damned the ridiculous sheer thing that honestly did not cover her body at all, she fought to push back the stinging in her eyes, the tears that were collecting behind her closed eyelids.

She gasped, her eyes bursting open when a warm hand closed gently around her fingers. She found the king knelt before her chair, but with such great stature, his gaze was perfectly level with hers from where she sat; but if he weren't slightly hunched, he would still tower over her, she truly was a little one in this realm, quiet possibly the littlest. She felt herself swallowed up by those piercing eyes, so close and coloured with concern. "You're sure you would not like a glass of wine? It would ease the tension holding you captive, so then I might speak to you freely."

Her eyes widened - at his words, at his position, his expression. _He_ had offered her treat and leisure to lessen her dread, it hadn't been voices and scenes in her mind. She blinked and felt his long fingers circle closer around hers. "Speak, winë."

"N-no," her tongue failed her, and she found she could not meet his eyes, casting her gaze to her knees that were clearly trembling beneath her thin shift. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut after seeing the king's other hand rest against her knee, fingers curling to still the quivering motion.

"You need not fear me, winë. I do not seek the pain in my companions, but the pleasure."

She breathed out an anxiety-riddled laugh before muttering, "I would have thought you sought your own pleasure, majesty."

"That I do." His grip on her hand disappeared only to reappear beneath her chin. With his gentle urging she raised her head, reluctantly meeting his eyes with her watery ones. His fingers gliding along her jaw and slid into her hair behind her ear. He smiled softly, "But what is the point if pleasure isn't had by all? If one achieves ecstasy while the other suffers?" His broad hand slipped free from her hair, back to the hinge of her jaw, his thumb brushing along her cheek to collect a tear that had slipped from her eye without her knowledge, his smile never dimming. "Tell me, are you untouched as your charmingly hesitant demeanour would suggest?"

She couldn't hide away, not with the king so close and his hands attempting to cease her despair, and he was so incredibly close, features so flawless, such a perfect being. But he was asking about the root of her terror, of course he was asking, which meant it would happen soon, probably within the next few moments after her answer. This was the very reason of her new placement in the kingdom. "Y-yes, my lord."

Desire flashed in his eyes, she saw the minute lift of his eyelids as his hungry gaze rounded with interest, his pupils expanding just slightly to darken his light eyes. She braced herself for it, for him to pounce and claim and take her, but in the next moment he was gone. His touch was gone, leaving her colder, the tremble still in her limbs, she nearly found herself slumping without his support. He stood tall, his night gown just as gallant as his daily royal attire, his hands folded against the small of his back as he directed his eyes toward the roaring hearth, "The brutish race of men have a tendency to damage and destroy things of delicacy and beauty. The whole innocence of your maidenhood is blessed, then, lest you would've been ruined."

"Yes, my lord," she nodded, though she did not reveal that the race of men were just as wary of her as the elves. Most men had seen her as a divine being, but they were those who had never encountered an elf before, so even she - as just a half blood elleth - they saw as angelic, they did not dare to do more than give her compliments of her fairness. But as the centuries passed, less and less of those respectful men crossed her path, the king was right.

He glanced to her, "You did not envisage that I might be a just and selfless lover in all your introspective anxiety, did you?" He turned to her then, with his gaze heatedly firm on her he stepped back to his seat and settled down into it.

She swallowed nervously, unsure of how to answer, her mouth opened and closed in preparation to produce something, anything to respond, but then the king waved his hand dismissively, and she sealed her lips closed. He did not cross his legs as he usually did when seated, and before she could begin to wonder why, he was curling one finger in beckoning, "Come."

She stood instantly and walked the short distance to stand before his seated figure, her pulse thrumming with the anxiety he had mentioned, the anxiety that had really never dulled since she had been collected from her chambers. She waited for further instruction, and the king grinned, not a coy smirk, or a modest smile, but a knowing grin. "For a nervous maiden you adhere to direction very well."

There was no need for an answer to that statement, she bowed her head, and waited. She startled when he made a gesture to his lap, a variety of options of what that could mean flooded her mind, the most likely meant he wanted her on her knees, that he wanted her to - "Sit," he said - and all those thoughts were extinguished, she was simultaneously relieved and shocked. She wasn't sure how to go about it, she'd never perched herself on a man's knee before, never draped herself across another's lap, but this wasn't just any man, this was the Elvenking, so she settled herself as comfortably as she could, hoping it wasn't the wrong way. She angled herself toward the light of the fire, her back against an arm rest, she crossed her legs as they covered his, her hands folded in her lap, she waited again. He didn't move to touch her apart from where she was lounged upon him, his arms were poised on the arm rests, his hands dangling from his wrists, but his eyes seemed to be the most invasive in the way they drank her in.

She tried not to shift and squirm in discomfort as he took in the sight of her so close to him, as she realised that she was in fact sitting across the lap of an elf, a king, the _Elvenking_.

"I do not plan to hurt you," he said, then added after a short pause, "Unless you wish for me to deliver pain."

She turned her stunned widened eyes to his, "Why would I want that?"

He shrugged, a crude gesture for such a royal, elegant being, "Just as some enjoy inflicting anguish to another, some may enjoy receiving it."

"Why?" she couldn't stop her curiosity from bursting forth.

"One doesn't know what they do and do not like until they try it - as in every day life as one grows - intimacy is just the same," he explained and then his arm curled around her waist, his large hand splaying along her hip and thigh. His other hand moved, much more hesitant than the other, and brushed along her temple and through her hair, sweeping behind her ear, his eyes focussed on the path his fingers glided.

She glanced away, down to her folded hands, a safe place, as she felt a blush warming her cheeks and ears at such affectionate attention being paid to her, especially by the king's hand. His fingers strayed to the soft skin behind her ear, then down her neck, evoking a chill in her skin at the delicate touch. He captured her jaw in a gentle hold, his thumb slipping away and brushing along her bottom lip.

"Have you ever kissed?"

Her eyes flashed up to him, lips parting in a breathy gasp and under the pressure of his thumb. She glanced to his mouth, an unconscious action, and saw that smirk curl up one side again. Her blush brightened and she looked to his eyes, then back to her hands before answering, "There... There was a man at an inn, he kissed my hand, once," she smiled at the fond memory, so long ago, she was very near to seeing her first half century, her mother had been both thrilled and appalled. She never saw the human again, but he had been quite a gentleman. "Any other time, my mother kissed my cheek or my forehead in goodnight and farewell."

"Such a full, pretty pair of lips. Soft as rose petals," his thumb brushed across again, "Just as untainted as the rest of you. Never another set of lips against yours," he murmured, and she found herself entranced by his words, by his mouth, the way his shining pink lips formed the phrases that sounded nearly poetic. Unconsciously drawn in by his voice and his lips, literally drawing closer as he continued to speak, "Never sharing a hitch of breath, a soft brush of supple flesh, a tender caress of sweet tongue...?"

There was a questioning lift to the end of his last word, which meant she needed to answer. What were they speaking of again? Oh, kisses! She drew back, realising how close she had leaned in, how scandalous it would've been had she initiated anything without his say. "N-no," she stuttered, confused of her sudden consuming lust, confused as she always was when such desire was provoked within her as thoughts of the king consumed her mind. But it was different now, here she was seated in his lap, hypnotised by his pretty words and even prettier features. Surely there was magic involved.

"I will not press you to do anything you're not comfortable with," he whispered, his sparkling eyes intent on hers, "I will find much greater pleasure knowing you are relaxed with me, and find your own pleasure with me. As slowly as you need."

Yet again she found herself stunned to silence, with opposing feelings waging war inside her, she could only nod. He smiled gently, his eyes dipped to her mouth, and his tongue slid out to wet his lips.

"May I kiss you?"

Iluvatar, save her! She would have never, ever in her wildest dreams seen herself in such a predicament. The Elvenking of the Greenwood, treating her so delicately, speaking to her carefully, asking for her permission. Giving her a choice, giving her the control. The maidens had told her to do as the king said, but here the king had phrased a question of her consent. Truly she did not want to kiss him, though her body and mind had seemed inclined otherwise moments ago. She wasn't ready, she wasn't comfortable, not yet.

She shook her head, a bashful tint colouring her face, feeling very much like a child.

The king's shoulders sagged slightly, but that small smile reclaimed his mouth, "Then I shall wait until you are willing."

"And should it take me centuries?" she wondered cautiously, as she was contracted as his majesty's courtesan, he could actually tell her what to do and she could not refuse, should he grow weary of waiting out her nerves.

His smile twitched slightly wider with amusement, "I'm patient." So pleasant and beautiful, the image he presented, she found his smile contagious, and her blush intensify when his thumb brushed against her rosy cheek with fondness.

Shortly thereafter she was collected outside of the king's chamber doors, and immediately swathed in a thick dressing gown, then hands guided her back to her chamber, with her maids chattering with adoringly soft tones in praise. They had assumed the king had been swift with bedding her and acquiring her virtue, and she had endured it greatly, but gave her no room for comment. They redressed her into a proper sleeping gown and settled her into bed and left her to rest and regain her strength. She did eventually drift into a deep slumber, her thoughts before succumbing to sleep were clouded with King Thranduil's voice, her dreams were filled with the image of his tall form, his large warm hands, his perfect mouth, his flawless everything. Her heart pounded great appreciation of the control he'd given her over the situation. He wasn't at all the frightful, cruel elf she'd thought he might be. Perhaps she would be alright after all.

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